The Dragon's Blade_Veiled Intentions

by Michael R. Miller

  One half of him hoped he would, the other knew the hard truth: he wasn’t going back.

  The Grey Fury sailed at the head of their fleet. Around one hundred and fifty feet long, with three rowers abreast up each side, it was big enough to offer covered shelter at the aft. A square sail of woven wool, fastened with leather straps to keep its shape, stretched overhead and a wooden warrior, wielding a heavy round shield and axe, dominated the bow. Lord Imar was still busy seeing to his men and reacquainting himself with news from his lands, leaving Darnuir alone for the first time in recent memory. Blaine interrupted that by appearing at his side.

  “I am concerned about Arkus,” Darnuir said.

  “Do not worry about the rage of one human King,” Blaine said. “Humans pass in generations within our lifetime. You may still be the King of our people when Arkus’ great grandson inherits the throne in Brevia.”

  “We may not survive for that long if we cannot work together,” Darnuir said.

  “He’ll work with us,” said Blaine. “He just granted us the use of his forces. Defeating the demons works in his favour as well.”

  “I’m thinking long term,” Darnuir said. “After the war, should we win, our people will need ships to ferry them home; we’ll need shipments of food until we can begin to regrow our own crops. And I’d rather we were not barred from visiting Brevia.”

  “That was a throwaway threat.”

  Darnuir silently hoped that was true. He spent a few seconds picking at a loose chip of wood with a nail before asking Blaine, “What happened to you during the battle?”

  “I could not call upon the Cascade.”

  “Nor could I, but I still fought on.”

  “Are you suggesting I am no longer capab—”

  “I’m suggesting nothing of the sort,” Darnuir said.

  “Very well,” Blaine said. Darnuir didn’t fail to notice the slight shake of Blaine’s hand. Something about the battle had unnerved him, whether he would admit it or not.

  “No more secrets Blaine,” Darnuir sighed. “Do you remember agreeing to that, after the Charred Vale? It wasn’t so long ago. No more secrets…”

  “I remember,” said Blaine. He leant over the side of the boat and the chain with the little silver ‘A’ dangled from his neck.

  “What else does Chelos know? Why were you so insistent he come with us?”

  “He can help explain me everything to you when he’s better.”

  “If the poor dragon regains his strength,” Darnuir said. Chelos looked feeble underneath all the furs. Exposed to the elements it would only make his recovery more uncertain. “I promised Cassandra I’d take care of him.”

  “He’ll recover,” Blaine said.

  “He’d better.”

  Chapter 16

  DA GREAT GLEN

  Garon – West of the Great Glen

  GARON WARMED HIS hands upon the campfire. He rubbed them hard, bringing them up to cover his mouth and nose, and breathed out, trying to warm his nose. The lack of food was starting to make him feel numb and his empty stomach gave him a constant sense of sickening nausea. The only one of his company who did not show weakness to the cold was Ochnic, though the kazzek looked no less despondent as he gazed up at the Principal Mountain looming over them. It dwarfed every other hill and crag, a massive blue and grey barrier against the early evening light. Garon wondered if Ochnic was more worried about reaching his people than relieved.

  “It’s tae the benefit of our stomachs we’ll reach our destination soon,” Griswald said as he peered miserably into his ration bag. “Basically all out.” He demonstrated by shaking the bag upside down and only a solitary portion of salted beef fell out. “What I wouldn’t do tae get ma hands on just one small roast partridge.” Griswald hunched over a little more. Garon was pleased to have him there all the same. Being around company was a good sign that Griswald was coming around after Rufus’ death. Garon just hoped that Griswald’s old spirit would return soon as well.

  “Oh no, more meat, I beg you,” said Pel. She was staring in equal amounts of despair and disgust at her own preserved beef. Perhaps unhelpfully, Ochnic chose that moment to devour his own portion with great enthusiasm. Pel grimaced.

  “Is there anything else Pel might eat, Ochnic?” Garon asked. “Maybe some unheard of flower of great nutritional quality?”

  Ochnic cocked one of his shaggy white eyebrows. “No. Not unless you want to eat da heather.” He reached for a bush, ripped off a purple tip and began to chew. He spat it out shortly after. Pel’s wings drooped and she hung her head, looking very much a young girl.

  “It won’t kill you,” said Marus. “I know fine well that flyers and warriors are given more meat in their diet.”

  “Not this much and it’s usually sweeter,” said Pel. “I feel unclean, and can smell the stink of it on me. Well, I’m used to the jeers about that.” She looked defiantly at each of them, as though hoping to shut down any judgemental set of eyes. Yet, after a scan of the group, her expression softened. “You don’t care do you?”

  “D’you think he cares, lass?” Griswald said, waving his shovel of a hand towards Ochnic, who had his head deep in the ration bag.

  “Human sense of smell isn’t that keen,” Garon said. “Marus?”

  The legate shrugged. “Won’t catch a dragon turning down some meat.”

  “Oh,” Pel said.

  “Probably a good thing you’ve gotten out of that forest then,” said Garon. “Learn how the rest of the world works and such. I never appreciated how much your kind is averse to a good roast chicken. Would you really be treated differently?”

  “I was treated differently,” said Pel. She shivered and edged a little closer to the fire. “It was hard enough trying to speak to the other women in my family without them holding their noses around me. They were all chosen to be healers, or painters or arborists. Some even served in the Argent Tree. But I was rare and born with wings, so I got handed a spear. No choice about it.”

  “You would rather be doing a woman’s work?” Marus asked.

  “I’d rather have friends,” Pel said. “I’d rather have my mother understand me and treat me like one of my sisters than like a warrior son.”

  “But you can fight,” Marus said as though that settled the matter.

  “Can’t do much else, though,” said Pel. “We’re not taught other useful things of life. ‘That’s someone else’s job’ we get told; it’s all we ever get told. And sometimes — sometimes I wish I didn’t have wings.”

  “Oh, Pel,” Garon said. “Don’t say that. They’re a gift.” But Pel – Wing Commander Pel – had begun to tear up. She tried to hide it, but she couldn’t completely cover up her quick breathing, nor the little sniffs. “I know the food isn’t what you want, but you should try to eat it. You’ll feel a little better.” If this were a young huntress or hunter on patrol he would have the group console them and make fresh needle brew. Exertion and hunger were usually to blame for breakdowns. Right now, however, he wasn’t sure what else to do. Hugging one of his commanding officers seemed entirely inappropriate. As Pel tried to collect herself, Ochnic emerged crestfallen from the empty ration sack.

  “I can teach you some ways,” Ochnic said. Everyone looked to him, then to Pel, then back to the troll.

  “I’m sorry?” she said.

  “Teach you,” Ochnic said slowly as though they were all dim-witted. “Ways you don’t know. Ways of da plants, da herbs, da wild. Some you can eat and some you use to heal. All kazzek are taught these things.”

  “You would?” Pel said. “Why?”

  Ochnic let out a truly spectacular sigh. “If you are not wanting my help—”

  “No, I do,” Pel said. “I’m just… surprised. Thank you, Ochnic.” The troll growled his approval and thumbed one of his tusks.

  Garon beamed. “Well, that’s settled then. Now Pel, will you please eat your— Ochnic?” he said, alarmed as the troll leapt to his hairy feet. “There’s no need to start
your lessons immediately.” But Ochnic wasn’t paying him any attention. He was sniffing deeply.

  “What’s wrong?” Garon asked crisply. He, Griswald and Pel rose as well, while Marus clambered awkwardly up, still favouring one leg.

  “Silver Furs,” Ochnic hissed.

  “What are they?” Marus asked. “Some dangerous animal of the Highlands?”

  “Dey are the elite who serve da chieftains,” Ochnic said. “Stay here,” he added, then dashed off into the heather, prone to the ground like a stalking cat.

  “It’ll be alright,” Griswald said. “They wanted us tae come up here didn’t they?”

  “Ochnic seems worried,” Marus said. He shoved his helmet back on and gripped the hilt of his sword. “His kind have left us out here to half starve already. Better to be safe.”

  Garon peered in the direction Ochnic had departed, but saw no signs of movement. He was considering how hunters could learn an awful lot in the arts of stealth from the kazzek when Pel let out a cry of shock from behind him.

  “Back off,” Pel said, waving her spear towards two trolls that had appeared near her. Both had silver fur, which was thicker than Ochnic’s. Their skin was also grey, but it seemed more vibrant than Ochnic’s drabber complexion. Their eyes had a slight glint to them, and even their tusks looked shinier, like marble.

  Ochnic emerged from the heather a moment later. “Back off, Silvers,” he told the two trolls who had scared Pel.

  “Only playin’,” said the leftmost of the pair. Ochnic growled lowly again and another five silver-haired trolls emerged from the heather, springing upright to their full heights. The biggest of the lot had foot-long tusks with iron bands around the middle of the bones. Tartan cloth covered his upper body, which was a mixture of light reds and greens across blocks of white. The rest of the Silver Furs bowed their heads and grasped their tusks before him.

  “Dis is da Chief-of-Chiefs,” Ochnic said, also bowing his head and taking his tusks in hand. Garon gulped as he looked up at the towering chieftain.

  “You look like you might be in charge,” Garon said.

  “Rohka, I am.” The chieftain lightly took hold of his tusks and lowered his head to Garon.

  “Well, it’s nice to meet you,” Garon said. He thought it prudent to bow his own head. “Forgive our dishevelled states. We weren’t expecting visitors.”

  “Got any food there?” Griswald asked.

  “Food?” said Rohka. “We struggle ta feed our own.”

  “So then why are we here?” barked Marus. He clambered upright upon his crutch and looked distinctly unthreatening to the large kazzek.

  “It was not I who convinced da chieftains to send for Lowlanders,” said Rohka. He glanced to Ochnic.

  “Ochnic promised us we would be provided for,” Garon said. “In return for lending aid to your people. We’re hungry out here.”

  “Some of us are starving,” Pel muttered darkly.

  “You are da pack leader?” said Rohka, looking to Garon.

  “I am,” Garon said.

  “Da chieftains wish to see you,” Rohka said. “Come with me.”

  “Am I to journey alone or can my companions accompany me?”

  The Chief-of-Chiefs and his Silver Furs put their heads together and spoke hurriedly in a language Garon didn’t understand. Their native tongue sounded hard on the ear, their low voices flaring in hard rhythmic inflections like a beating drum.

  “Da dragon and human may,” said Rohka. “Not da fairy.”

  “Excuse me?” Pel asked.

  “Not safe,” Rohka said.

  “Not safe for who? For me?” said Pel. “I will not be left behind.”

  “I insist,” said Garon. “These fairies have travelled far to help your kind, Rohka.”

  “She should come, Rohka, Chief-of-Chiefs,” Ochnic said.

  As tall as Ochnic was, Rohka looked down on him. “You’ve brought many warriors Ochnic, Shadow Hunter. But dis is not a matter for you to decide.”

  “I won’t come if Pel can’t,” Garon said.

  Rohka took several tense seconds to think. His lips bulged as he ran his tongue around his teeth. Then he flashed his fangs. “Da fairy can come. Leave your weapons here.”

  “Very well,” Garon said. He unstrapped his belt and set his sword on top of the rest of his gear. “Griswald, you’re in charge while we’re gone.”

  The Silver Furs set off immediately. Garon chewed the last bite of his beef, gulped nervously and followed. They skirted the edge of the expedition’s camp through the heather, drawing rather close to the fairy tents. As they passed, many fairies stopped what they were doing and stared out at the group of trolls and to Pel in the middle of them, their faces stricken with worry, as though she were marching to her own execution.

  “I’ll catch up,” Pel said, before taking off and flying over to speak with them. They really were a young bunch, probably the greenest fighters that Fidelm could have sent. Garon considered it a cowardly move. Cowardly and selfish. Fidelm had sat on that council, heard his own Queen approve the expedition, and he and Blaine had still tried to sabotage it. The more Garon thought about it, the angrier he got. It wasn’t just the trolls they might be sacrificing, but Garon, everyone who had come with him, and the whole of the west. Did their pride and scorn run so deep that they’d rather punish their own people, their own young – in Fidelm’s case – to get their own misguided way? And it was definitely misguided, Garon had concluded. Ochnic, on the other hand, had been the pinnacle of a diplomat, even a friend.

  I hope you can deal with them Darnuir. He tapped the scroll by way of solidarity. Maybe having Cosmo by your side will help.

  Pel rejoined the company as they approached the base of the Principal Mountain. Garon began to wonder where they were being led. There was no obvious route to the Great Glen on the other side. It became especially puzzling when they arrived before a flat face of rock with weeds and moss that struggled for life between every small crack.

  “Dis is not da way,” Ochnic said.

  “Oh der is ways into da Great Glen that few know,” Rohka said.

  “Special ways through da High Rock,” said one of the Silver Furs.

  “Da chieftains did not tell me of this,” said Ochnic.

  “We tell dem who need ta know,” Rohka said. “You succeeded in your mission, you may know. Southerners have never been allowed in da glen before. Da chieftains show you a great kindness. Don’t go ruining dat.”

  “We promise,” Garon said on behalf of the group.

  “Good,” said Rohka. “Open da door.”

  “Door?” Marus said. “What door.” But the trolls had already set about their work. Rohka himself went to pick up an inconspicuous rock, slightly squared at the bottom. It required three of the trolls to lift it. They shimmied themselves up onto a grassy mound and carefully positioned the rock against an indistinct dent in the mountainside. The other kazzek grabbed smaller, longer stones, like oversized sausages from around the area with well-practised efficiency. And in a final cat-like display of agility, the remainder of the Silver Furs bounded onto their colleagues’ shoulders, or clung to small crevices in the rock, holding up their own pieces up to make a giant stone hand.

  The mountain groaned in approval and the rock face shimmered as though in a heatwave, intensifying and pulsating until miraculously, even impossibly, an archway appeared; tall enough to fit five Griswalds and wide enough to practice archery in.

  They entered the archway, stepping from the fading pink-orange evening into the darkened tunnel. Silver Furs collected some pre-oiled torches and flicked flint against steel to ignite them. An instant later, the light from the outside world vanished. When Garon turned he saw the archway that had silently reformed into smooth rock.

  “Onwards,” Rohka commanded. They proceeded downwards at first, delving deeper under the mountain. Their steps echoes loudly and the faint light from their torches was not enough to illuminate the cavernous space. They kept close
to one wall as they moved, the other well out of sight. Garon placed a hand against the freezing stone to help balance himself as the incline down became steeper.

  “It’s rather hard to see,” Garon said. “Couldn’t we have lit a few more torches?”

  “We won’t need dem.”

  “Human eyes aren’t so good, y’know,” said Garon. But before the troll could say anything further Garon saw light ahead – a dim blue glow, coming from the walls themselves. When he was closer, Garon saw that the stony grains were so fine he could see through them, like a thin shade over a window. A free-flowing blue ooze swam behind the fine rock, lighting the underground world. Each vein through the rock was dim but combined it was enough to see by and threw relief onto the carved runes upon the walls and floors.

  “Raw Cascade energy,” Pel said quietly. Garon looked back to her. She was drifting trance-like towards the walls and her sudden change of course nearly caused Marus to crash into her.

  “Careful, Wing Commander,” said the legate.

  “Yesssssss,” Pel said dreamily.

  “Keep an eye on da fairy,” Rohka snarled.

  “What?” Pel snapped. “I’m fine.”

  Other passages peeled off bending out of sight or leading to giant staircases where each step would require a ladder to reach the top. The air was cool, if stale, and Marus’ crutch echoed sharply with each step.

  Ochnic seemed the most in awe. “So it is true. Der are tunnels of da golems under our feet.”

  “I fear my imagination won’t be wrong in picturing them,” Garon said.

  “Living rock,” said Ochnic.

  “Naturally,” said Garon.

  “Living rock?” Marus repeated in disbelief.

  “You do not have dem in da south?” Ochnic asked.

  “Never heard of them,” said Garon. “And I used to live in a mountain range similar to this one. There are two Principal Mountains in the Boreacs, but I’ve never come across such creatures.”

  “Dey need a lot of da blue poison,” said Rohka. “Even here it is not enough for dem anymore. Dey ’av been dying out for many years and—”

  “Pel, no,” Marus called. She had wandered closer to the wall again.